


hold me close

by JPuzzle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent with 307, F/F, Spooning, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPuzzle/pseuds/JPuzzle
Summary: Lexa can't sleep. Clarke is almost asleep. Late night conversations ensue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A few things: This is canon divergent. Lexa didn't die in 307 - she did, however, get shot. We're going on the assumption that the grimdark mess of season three went down differently - that the Skaikru mess got solved and Clarke's back in Polis and it isn’t filled with technozombies.
> 
> There is a very vague reference to a discussion about spooning on tumblr. It can be found in all of its glory [ here. ](http://dedalvs.tumblr.com/post/142057125962/vcass-everybodyhatesjroth-deatheda)
> 
> As always, my deepest thanks and mad props go to popper. Who sees the frustrated yelling in google docs with words that don't work and sentences that don't fit and calmly suggests ways to fix it. Because of that, my writing is a hundred percent better than it would be otherwise. Eventually, I'll write you some sin in gratitude.

It’s close to midnight and aside from the footsteps of the guards on rotation, the tower is silent. It’s rare for Lexa to be in bed before midnight but Clarke had been incredibly persuasive and she’d been  _ very _ happy to oblige. Now later, much later, and on the edge of sleep, Lexa finds her mind wandering. She shifts back, her ass molded against Clarke. The arm draped around her waist tightens and Clarke mumbles incoherently into her neck. Lexa’s brow furrows. She’s comfortable but why is she  _ always _ the front spoon?

“Clarke?”

She hears Clarke grunt sleepily and nuzzle at her neck. Lexa’s frown deepens.

_ “Clarke.” _

She feels the exasperated huff of breath against her neck. She shifts and shakes the arm draped around her.

“What, Lexa. It's late and we both have a busy day tomorrow.” 

Lexa twists around to face her bleary-eyed lover. Her lower lip juts out slightly.

“You're pouting. What's wrong?”

She isn't pouting. She's Heda, Heda does not pout.

“Why am I always the front spoon, Clarke?”

She feels the furs shift and the arm around her waist moves away. She feels very small in this big bed with her love propping herself up on her elbow and blinking at her in half-awake confusion.

"What?"

Lexa squirms and shifts against Clarke, gesturing at the bed, at their sleeping positions. 

"The front spoon. You're always holding me.”

Clarke’s brow furrows and Lexa can hear the exhaustion bleed into her voice, can see it in the lines of her body and her face.

“Lexa, it's _ late.” _

She doesn’t know why this is important, why this is suddenly gnawing at her, why she feels a heaviness in her chest or why her stomach feels full of oil. Lexa needs to know and she won’t be able to sleep until she does. 

“But  _ why.  _ Don't you want to be held?”

Clarke’s frown deepens. It’s something that Lexa has learnt in the last month and a half: Clarke does not like to be woken unless absolutely necessary. Even when it is necessary, she still takes a moment to rouse and before she's alert, she's irritable.

“I want sleep, I've spent my day arguing with your Ambassadors over trade deals for Skaikru.”

“Can I hold you?” 

Her voice is impossibly soft and she averts her gaze away from the blonde’s. Lexa’s fingers brush against the soft, warm furs to distract herself from the pit in her stomach.

The frown leaves Clarke’s face and she shuffles closer to her, concern clouding her face. 

“Lexa, you never have to ask.”

Clarke pauses then and looks,  _ really  _ looks at her. Lexa always feels exposed when Clarke looks at her like this. She feels like a book left open for any and all to read and there’s a small part of her that finds it terrifying. 

“What's wrong?”

The strange weight in her chest expands. She wraps her arms around her waist and flinches as she feels the raised skin under her fingertips. For a moment, she's not in bed, she's back at the entrance to Clarke's room, she can hear the discharge from the gun and Clarke's frantic pleading. She can feel the bullet piercing her skin, can feel the pressure of Clarke's hand against her stomach and hot tears sliding down her cheeks. And now she knows why she’s so upset. Her fingers reflexively brush against the round, puckered flesh of the still healing gunshot wound. She shudders and feels sick to her stomach. She tries to explain, her voice cracking and wavering - it makes her feel weak and hot with shame but no one is here to see. She's not Heda in this room and there's only Clarke to witness.

“I keep thinking about Titus. I keep thinking about the gun and the look on your face. I keep hearing you telling me to stay with you. I keep seeing your hands covered in blood.  _ My blood.  _ I just want to hold you.”

For a moment, pain flickers across Clarke’s face, raw and  _ hurt, _ before she softens. She reaches out and slowly, gently traces a fingertip lightly along the curve of her jaw. Lexa leans into the touch and the pressure in her chest eases.

“You never need to ask.”

Lexa curls herself around Clarke, a hand on her hip and her face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. She breathes a sigh of relief, they're both here and alive and safe. She shifts awkwardly, her other arm is pinned and it’s nice to hold Clarke, it  _ is, _ but she misses the warmth of Clarke against her back and the puff of breath against her neck. Lexa squirms experimentally, blonde hair tickling at her nose and pins and needles shooting up and down her trapped limb. She misses the arm curled around her waist and the hand always,  _ always _ resting over her heart. She’s not comfortable.

“..Clarke?”

“Mmm?”

“I'm not comfortable, can we switch?”

Low rasping laughter breaks the stillness of the room. Clarke rolls over, blue eyes shining with amusement and exasperated affection. In that look, Lexa sees safety, love, trust, sees  redemption and a second chance at something she was told she could never have. She can't express in words how that fills her, makes her full with happiness. She leans in and kisses Clarke, soft and slow, trying to express in touch what she can't verbally. Eventually, she breaks the kiss and sighs softly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Clarke shifts closer and slings an arm around her waist, fingertips tracing whorls against her small of her back.

They stay like that, curled against each other, legs tangled together. Clarke’s arm tightens around her waist. Lexa reaches out and splays her palm against the blonde’s chest. The steady, reassuring heartbeat and Clarke's fingertips tracing patterns on her skin slowly lulls her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone has any concrit or wants to talk about these two, come talk to me on tumblr [ @jixorpuzzle. ](http://jixorpuzzle.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
